


Spoken

by amockery



Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21795268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amockery/pseuds/amockery
Summary: Set  directly after the opening scene of the Rurouni Kenshin OAV, after Hiko frees Shinta from slave traders. Hiko gives his ward a new name and a new purpose. Shinta struggles with both.
Relationships: Hiko Seijuurou & Himura Kenshin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	1. Part One

In many ways, we are ruled by what we say, and what we allow to go unsaid.

The way back was slightly...awkward, to say the least. Of course, all walks with strangers are. I tried concentrating on the birdcalls, the play of shadows on the path, but his little footsteps would puncture any concentration.

Mainly, because they were very scattered.

Discreetly, I glanced aside and saw the small nubs of his feet jumping out in front of him; the bare, mud-caked soles crunching over rocks and sticks. The boy did not look down or up at me; only forward. His eyes strained when we crossed over stones or dried vines.

I wasn't so stupid to ask, "Where are your shoes?" I doubt he'd had any for quite sometime. Of course, the bandits would have made an effort to mask the soft white feet of his girls. _His_ feet could take on the callouses. Better that when working himself to death in the fields, wasn't it? That line of thinking is harsh, but so common to humans...and our times.

"It's a way to my home." I started, walking at the same pace, and joining his eyes, watching the oncoming ground. "I could carry you."

The boy looked to the side sharply, dropping his pace to behind me.

"No thank you."

It was a simple reply, as short as possible, but even with only three words, I could hear his fear, and it said _"Don't touch me."_

What other reply was I expecting? We were, of course, only strangers walking together.

He didn't slow his pace until we came to the overlook. I was halfway down the slope when I stopped, disturbed by the silence behind me. I glanced back at his small silhouette, the only distinction being those hollowed purple eyes. They stretched out, gazing down at what lie infront of him. It must have registered finally, all the way to the bone: This Is My New Home.

Abruptly, he clutched a thin branch beside him with a jerk, his worn feet sliding momentarily. 

I couldn't help but grin at his reaction. My home _was_ interesting, to say the least; I doubt the poor farmer boy had ever seen the strange white shape of a kiln.

"You...have a stream?" 

I opened my eyes. "Eh?"

He stumbled down the hill, then settled beside me, but his eyes wouldn't touch against mine; they were saved for the churning water. 

"You have a stream." He said to himself. 

"Well...yes."

He looked up to me, glanced away in a show of nerves, then back with hunched shoulders. 

"May...may I drink some? Some of the water, can I?" He asked it as if he were guilty.

"No." 

His pupils went to specks. I tried to smile back at his frightened face.

"The river water's dirty," I continued, starting my pace again. "I have some well water left from this morning. Come on."

In a slide of leaves and sticks, he jumped up to my pace again, eyes swiping between me and the flowing river. 

***

I came back from storage and found him lying against the floor in the dark. It was only noon, but his eyes were hooded, dark, and ready to fall closed. He held his swelled stomach, full of the precious gift of water I'd given him. I should have warned him not to drink so much. However, a child's eagerness was a new concept...as was dehydration and malnutrition.

I looked down at the onigiri in my hands.

"Kenshin."

His eyes wandered through the room, confused at the name.

"Shinta?"

Quickly, they snapped back. He pushed himself up with his thin arms, his palms shoving at the wooden floor. Yes, there was someone else in the room.

Braced up, he looked up at me, ready for whatever I had to say. I held out the riceballs that glowed with the intruding light from the doorway.

"I'll go get some fish for dinner. Until then, I have this."

Those haunting eyes stared back, completely mute to casual thought. Food. He swallowed once, twice, then looked up to me again, steadied. Without a grunt or groan, he situated his legs underneath him, laid his hands down, and bowed against the smooth floor.

" _Arigatou, gozaimashita_ ," He quivered out.

I left my gift in front of his matted hair and went to hunt for the sacred object: meat.

***

Despite his age and sex, he had the tendencies of a young girl. It'd been a week, and he still showed a curious amount of embarrassment, guilt, and shyness. He bathed far away from the house, in the shade of trees, even though the water there stung as hard as ice. The moment the floors creaked with my footsteps, he'd shoot up from his bed, hastily folding his legs and sitting upright. It was all directed at me, as well. It was not reverence; It was fear. I intimidated him.

I didn't like to think about where it came from, or what he thought I was going to do with him. I hoped it was only the remnants of his self-conscious girls. However...

"Kenshin."

His eyes were drawn, fingers fumbling with the two chopsticks. I made him start using them after two weeks of his savage eating.

"Shinta." His head twitched up. "I think you'll be ready to train next week."

"...train, sir?"

I felt my jaw set with displeasure.

"Yes, your training. Eating and sleeping all day isn't going to strengthen you." I said coolly. 

The slight twist of his face, quickly tamed back, questioned my logic.

I'm sure he had not thought further than being alive. When the body is in distress there's only that teeming, hot desire to live. However, learning how to fight is just another step in living. 

"Those things will obviously make you happy and take away your shakes...but, it won't stop bandits."

The word was sharp; he flinched and stilled when I said it. He stared at the delicate sticks in his small hands, obsessing over their length and color. I'm sure they weren't in his mind, though; his girls were...lying before him, still and open-eyed.

Giving him a moment, I lifted my cup and took in a little Sake.

"What do I have to do, Sir?" He offered quietly.

I grunted, setting down the cup. 

"Well, for starters, you can cut out this 'sir' talk."

He blinked at me owlishly, considered the table, then looked back up with caution. Didn't he get it?

"It makes me sound... _old._ " 

"...but-"

"-And it's not proper," I followed up quickly. "So address me as 'master'. Alright?"

Afraid to say more, he bobbed his head down once.

"Hai! Master!"

***

"Kenshin, watch the root in front of- _**Kenshin!**_ "

The bucket toppled over, fresh well-water splattering across the dry road.

I covered my eyes from the wet, messy sight. Why I tried the name, I still wonder; the boy treated it like a nonsense word, even at this point. Dreading, I let my fingers fall away from my face.

He was pulling himself up and away from the overturned bucket. He glared at it offensively, as if it'd maliciously tripped him.

"Your own fault." I corrected stiffly from my seat at the kiln. I took up the spire and poked in at the white blaze in front of me. Damn, it was hot. "You need to watch where you are going."

He made a sour face at me then hooked its wooden handle underneath his arm and waddled off into the dark, cool shades of the forest. 

How. How can I make something of him when he's this awkward and clumsy with a _pail?_ The delicate movements of sword fighting _at least_ mean that you have some awareness of your surroundings. It's not concentrating on the handling of the blade, but on your opponent, who is ready to take advantage of your weakness. Just the same, it's not just concentrating on the slosh and ripples of the water in the pail, it's concentrating on the approaching path. 

In so many ways I could apply the philosophies of sword fighting to life. It is a lovely code to live, and possibly die, by. 

When he came again, he was swinging the pail violently in his right hand, deep stains soaked up to his flushed, drawn face. He promptly stopped at the threshold of the shade.

"I can't do it!" He shouted, angry tears ready to break from his eyes. "I...I can't do it, master. I'm just not strong enough! It's so hot out...too."

I stared into the blistering white of the kiln, refusing to let myself nod back.

"If you do it long enough, you will succeed," I muttered to myself. 

I rubbed off the sweat from my neck, then raised my voice to him. "You've been at it for three days. Don't you think your brain's got the gist of what I want done?"

He blinked away the glare of tears. 

I tapped my finger to my forehead, cocking a smile.

"It's in there. I'm sure of it. Your stubborn muscles are just hellbent not to do it."

"Y...you think so?" He asked, cautiously dipping his head to look at his feet.

Finally, I nodded. 

" _Sou._ Now go do it again. Who knows when the two will catch up to one another."

His eyes kept on me momentarily as he warily turned back to the dark path. He started, paused, then abandoned the handle (which made the pail almost the length of him) and hugged the instrument against his small chest.

_Ahhh_. hadn't thought of that, had we? 

The boy hurried off to his destination.

"Well," I said lightly to myself, drawing curls in the ash with my spire. "It looks like Master is good for something, after all."

A few more botched attempts and we had fresh well-water to cool the jugs.

***  
_Four weeks pass..._

His small, ruddy fingers bore into the hilt, angling the tip of the blade lower. His dark eyes glared between the metal, a twitch of hesitation breaching before he charged...and was subsequently thrown back into the pool of cold water at our feet.

His weapon somersaulted across the river, slapping down hard on the rocky shore. He flinched at the sound, keeping his eyes away.

"If you're holding it firm enough, your opponent shouldn't be able to bat it out of your hands." I reminded him, a little bit of aggravation leaking into my voice. I jerked my head at the fallen sword. "Pick it up and do it again."

He shifted his legs strangely, tensely, then pulled up and swayed over to his sword...the poor thing; I had it polished and cleaned impeccably only a month ago. Because of the amount of sloppiness in his moves, the shorter weapon had seen a lot of unnecessary battery. I'd managed to keep it in good condition on my own, but you never plan on having a student rat-up your instruments...

Actually, that sounded vaguely familiar...as if the old master had grumbled it under his own breath. 

He was coming back now, dragging the blade's edge against the pebbles below the surface.

My brow tensed.

"I do believe I said 'pick it up,' not drag it." I shouted. The blade's edge jumped out of the clear water. "Thank you."

I set my body up, locking my joints in the proper position. Glowering, he eyed my stronger stance then did a parody of it, putting the blade at a higher angle than before. At least he was experimenting, I thought, then rushed forward slowly. 

_*Clang, clang-g*_

Good; he was holding it as if it was his lifeline this time. Our swords were finally in conflict, raking down each other’s sharp edges. I pulled back, feeling my blood sing with anticipation. He was getting the same thrilled look it his eyes; it'd taken a solid month to culture it. 

I waited, letting my blade shiver in the clean sunlight. The daring look in his young eyes spiked up, and he charged me for the first time.

I threw him back ten feet with the edge of my sword, his small body slamming against the river's currents. Specks of water touched my face, refreshing me in the heat.

It was not sucessful, but then again, I hadn't expected it to be.

After a numb moment, his head resurfaced and promptly bubbled up something that was half-cough, half-gag. 

"Good. Good." I encouraged loudly, trying to speak above his sputtered gasps for precious air. "Finally, this is getting interesting."

He struggled away from the heavy weight of water, rivulets of it sleuthing off his back and down his face. He froze, clutching his stomach with a hitched moan. _That_ was a bit concerning. I scanned the river, wondering if there were sharp rocks here.

"You shouldn't be injured." I said, wading over to him. He glanced aside to me, still hunched over in the river. He looked away from my tall figure, half of my shadow on him, then shook his head.

"I have to go." He confessed, his voice barely making it over the waterfall beneath us.

"Absolutely not!" I shot back. "We're here until noon."

"No-" He stopped, wrestling with his embarrassment. "I have to _go_."

"...Oh." I edged back, looking into the forest. "...very well."

Still red down to his feet, he sloshed up, breach out of the heavy currents and walked across the shore. I foolishly thought he'd stop there; instead he dragged himself deep into the underbrush. He still had that crippling fear of me, I think. I wondered if it would ever manage to go away...

Standing alone in the cool, wet water, I felt the urgent pain tug at me too and figured I should also take the opportunity; fighting in the river was good for forcing muscle movement and buffering deadly moves, but it ushered the call of nature very quickly. 

I wasn't as particular as the boy and picked a tree at the cliff, gazing down at the sprawl of land beneath the waterfall. It truly was a beautiful country.

Halfway through, I heard a small giggle behind me. I turned my head sharply to see him there in the river, sword in hand, staring at me as if what I was doing was a new concept for him. I gave him a disturbed look, then turned back quickly.

His giggles ran over into full-on laughter. It was a strange sound that I'd never heard from him and was more than a little concerned over what the hell was so funny about what I was doing. Had he gotten into some laughing mushrooms? I glared over at him, trying to express my disapproval. Then, I notice where he was standing in correlation to where I was.

It looked like I was pissing off the side of the cliff. 

He arched low, pelting out hard, clear laughter that couldn't be contained by his masking hand.

"You little brat." I called behind my shoulder, wearing a sneer. "You've got a terrible sense of humor, you know that?"

Damn. There was no way I was going to finish this with a little boy laughing at me. I tucked myself back in and turned around. 

"Can't leave a man to piss in peace, can you? That's a crime against nature." 

At this point he'd died down to a tepid giggle, and I had a moment to savor that easy, relaxed smile of his that I hadn't even been sure could exist in my presence...

"Just for that, we're going to stay here an extra hour."

He stopped in his tracks, looking forward with still eyes.

...However, it shouldn't stay there _too_ long at my expense.


	2. Part Two

The open sores on his fingers eventually sealed up and hardened to callouses. Slowly but surely, he earned the marks, and the term "Master" flattered me, at last. 

Instead of grimacing at the site of it and dragging the tip of the scabbard against the rocky earth, he slid his weapon promptly against his side when it was offered to him, sometimes stilting his worn hands on the handle when he was daydreaming. 

I could hear him lightly tapping his scabbard against the outside walls in an even rhythm as he waited. The scruffy curve of his head slid by the open window open as I combed my hair.

"Master," He'd begun to draw that word out to a moan recently. I really should catch him on it, but it was somewhat endearing, in a bratty type of way. "When are we going?"

"When you stop whining." 

Damn knot. I tapped the teeth of the comb against it, afraid of tearing any black strands. I heard the door hiss open.

"I should have known." He sighed, walking up beside me to watch as I separated sections and pulled back others. "You do this _every time_ we're going into town, for some reason."

"There's a perfectly good reason," I returned quietly, touting out my bangs. "It's called women."

He unpropped his hand from his hip, thin brows coming together.

"What do you mean, Master?"

Huh. Still so young.

"Women appreciate a man who takes care of himself, you know."

His eyes flattened and wandered through the bland room, obviously not interested in my speeches about the opposite sex.

"I know it seems unimportant at your age, but you'd be wise to listen. Now, take for instance your hair," I began, motioning the black comb at his offensive tangles. "A woman who sees your hair in bad condition will assume that's how the rest of you pans out. You must show that you care to make an appearance because they're always ticking off little things like that." I fingered the thin teeth, running my nail against their edges. "In the end, it's about making a woman happy. A man's job is to find happiness for women."

He looked to me, interest rising back up in his dark eyes with my last words. Obviously, he felt some connection to them.

A little smile was pulling at my lips, so I looked back down. His hand carefully stretched out to the comb. I could see the hard, white dots of callouses there. Silently, I handed him the instrument.

He assessed it like an enemy, then cautiously ducked his head and planted it in the middle of his scalp. He pulled, but it didn't budge. Looking at it again, he tried at the back, tugging his wrist with no success. I sighed deeply, standing up.

"The way you've neglected it, there's no point in trying at the top," I explained, reaching my hand out to his head. "You have to-"

Then I stopped myself, catching up to the fact he didn't like to be touched. We both stared at each other in the dark room. It wasn't the type of confrontation I ever wanted, so let my hand sink. At that, he straightened himself, his small mouth setting, then crinkling at the edges as if he was resolving something inside himself.

His eyes rolled back up to mine, and he tried to smile. Almost cautiously, he offered me the black instrument.

"Okay," He said, rousing his soft voice back up as he went along. "Since...your the 'expert,' go ahead."

For a moment, I didn't know exactly what to do. Then everything snapped back, and I snorted and waved the comb.

"Don't worry. I'm sure I can sort it out...somehow." I put my hand on his shoulder to turn his back to me. He followed the movement, head lowered as he concentrated. The floorboards creaked unsurely.

I took a swath of his coppery hair and picked at the edges, coaxing the mats out and unleashing the tense knots so the strands could finally lay flat against his back. With time, I'd freed the back to a degree that I could slide the teeth through it effortlessly. Then, I turned him back, and we got to the unsure business of me combing the hair right in front of his eyes. He had his gaze positioned away from me, probably looking at the bright light coming through the window. However, when I touched his bangs, his eyes reconnected with mine.

He looked away again, lips setting as his face colored. I just grinned and kept at my work. 

When the last fall of red hair settled against his forehead, I felt the urgency to step back and look at him. His delicate bone structure surfacing for the first time, I realized something about my student; he would mature into a beautiful, not handsome, man.

"What?" He said a bit roughly, shoulders bunching as I stared.

"It's just..." I faded.

He swiped his fingers through my work when I hesitated.

"It's just that I'm not used to seeing it so well-kept." I finished, smirking down at him. I rubbed my chin, absolutely pleased with the results. "It's a bit unsettling."

He flattened his eyes at me, yet again.

"Oh, let's just _go_ ," He fumed, gathering the back cluster of his hair and strangling it up into a tail as he walked.

Chuckling, I followed behind.

We took the rented cart and horse into town, the pottery clacking together behind us as we journeyed down the slope. Although he counted off the days till our venture into town, it was also troubling to him; I refused to let him wear his sword. Even now, his hands patted at his right side in a vacant, forelorn movement. He sighed, perching his chin on his palm as we jostled forward.

"We don't need to catch attention by carrying around swords," I reminded, snapping the reigns as we curved over a puddle. I was not so foolish as to not bring my own. I had it stealthily hidden beneath the folds of my mantle.

"...hmn. And you don't think that massive coat isn't going to catch attention?" He asked dully.

"It's called a _mantel_. And no; people expect artists such as myself to be eccentric."

He eyed me sideways, then undid his stance to grab the pointed red collar.

I blinked at him, nose-to-nose.

"At least pull _this_ down," he grumbled, jerking it to a milder position at my shoulders. Without a word, he pushed himself back to his seat, watching the dark underbrush pass beside us. For a moment, I was curious about his stress over my mantle, but after a moment I gave it up to a teenager's fragile line of what was acceptable and what was unbearable behavior from their caretakers.

I'd expected it, but I couldn't help but be pleased at the success of my pottery. Old customers of mine were impressed with the new designs and techniques, and new ones were eyeing it above their heads curiously. Three or four pots and vases remained, looking quite lonely on the shelf. I hadn't expect them to sell though; looking at their designs, I'd swear I'd done them while I was drunk....

"Oi." 

His small head rose from the pottery, chin curiously tipped up at me.

"You’ve done well. I think we should eat someplace nice for a change." I said.

"You mean well...with the pottery?" He returned a bit awkwardly. He had the intuition that I was offering a reward for all his successes in training, but he'd die before he'd snatched up that greedy meaning on his own. It was a childish instinct, wanting to be satisfied. I began to say it, but the words were too telling for me and only grinned in the end.

"Do you want to go?" 

"Yes!" He blurted, then ducked down in order to hide his embarrassed face. "I'd like to go!"

He'd had enough of my lectures on women to be less than surprised when we entered the restaurant, beautiful girls seeming to dance from one seating room to another. 

His only comment was "Oh, I see," as if he was logging something away about me. As cool a composure he'd like to show, he all but whimpered when one of the servers caught sight of us and approach in a tumult of excitement.

"Gubara!" She cooed, stilting over to me in those sandals I loved. I had a sweep of warm flashbacks of her melodic voice, and lovely figure before she came to me. "It's been so long, hasn't it?"

"Too long..." I murmured. She glanced at me prettily, dashing away her glossy bangs in an attempt to tease. She then noticed the sprout of red hair beside me.

"And who is this?" She asked, stringing her voice up lightly to a tone for children. She hunched down to speak, and with the position I had to fight off the instinct to take in the niceness of her chest.

He stared back, eyes round and numb. Then something in him must have cracked, because his movements went shaky, trying his best to dodge her confronting stance with the turn of his head and fragmented glances.

She unhunched herself, looking back up to me with an irresistible amount of curiosity.

"Does he speak Japanese?" She asked. It was a valid question; only the shape of his eyes was like ours. Everything else about him seemed to trace back to some unknown land. 

I nodded, then followed up: "Infrequently to strangers."

"Ahhh," She returned, putting a dainty finger to her nose. "I see. Would you like a table?"

"Please." 

She led us off, my awkward student following behind us in a haze of insecurity.

Once we were seated and left alone for a few solid minutes the redness that'd dyed his face leaked away and he finally had the ability to comment.

" _Guruba...?_ "

"What? Not convincing?" I asked innocently.

He just dropped his head with a sigh. Despite his efforts, I could see the small edges of a smile there.

A few moments passed, and we were relayed the length of the menu. Like everything, he cocentrated on what was given to him, blinking quickly when she spoke a strange word. I'd gently interrupt her to clarify the dishes; what meat, what sauce, then we started again. When she positioned herself to me brightly, I only replied with "my usual."

Then, she turned to him. He gazed back at her, back twitching up to the proper position. It must have been an unfamiliar position for him, sitting here in a clean restaurant, being asked what he _wanted_ to eat. I doubt any one had ever asked him something like that. 

However, he was an adaptive student and calmly said, "I'll have his dish too." when he couldn't pin down the words.

Her slender brows raised slightly.

"Certainly...not the Sake," she returned. 

"Ah! No. Tea...please."

The waitress smiled back knowingly, then bowed and went on her way.

I folded my arms, set in a very smug position.

"It's harder to speak to the opposite sex, isn't it?" 

"Master."

"Alright, alright." His reaction was all that I wanted, really.

 _*clink*_

My ears pulled at the familiar, unsettling sound behind me. The boy's face stared forward, at what I knew was there. One of our own kind passed us in a heavy, pronounced walk, two black lenghts of swords branching from his side. There was no attempt at all to hide them. They carelessly swayed with as he passed dodging men and women. He batted away the entranceway flaps, a trail of nervous waitresses lining the greeting area, intent on making sure he left.

I watched the empty space too, feeling anger bubble up in the pit of my stomach. Then my eyes slid to the boy, who was in the same trance, small neck turned, watching the cloth flaps move vacantly.

"Don't look!" I snapped, a little too loud. Shinta flinched away from my tone, quickly facing me again. Obviously, I must have been a little loud; the people beside us had refocused their attention to my voice. To hell with them. 

"Who..." He lifted his eyes up, as if they were heavy. They fell back down to his lap. "Who was that?"

"I don't know, or care to find out. Anyone who carries two swords in broad daylight is an arrogant fool." I whispered quickly, glaring at the thought.

Quiet settled in-between us for a while. My mind continued to stir on it's own.

"But," He punctuated quietly. "For a swordsman to carry them so obviously, for someone to not care whether he finds enemies...it must mean that he's very strong."

I gave a hard sigh through my nose at that.

"...Sou." I admitted. His eyes began to rustle with something new, something I considered dangerous. "-people like that don't mean to just fight. They mean to _kill_. There's nothing honorable about it."

"I know," He returned quickly, trying to hush me. "I know that..."

But he didn't. Even after the mechanics of training, after the blood that'd stained his feet that night...he did not know. Children aren't supposed to know. How could I explain it? I couldn't without shattering everything that kept him moving forward into strength, into the perfection of the technique. He sat there, pruned by me, wearing the thin muscles of our training, and yet, did he really understand what his life must be? He had his goals set deep inside him. Although I recited our code and attempted to teach him about the world...I felt a dark instinct that he was still very ignorant...that I had failed him as a teacher. I had failed to connect with him.

"Master? What is it?" I looked back up to see traces of fear in his face.

I smiled badly.

"Nothing, Shinta." I murmured, resigned to the name.

We received our food and, after situating chopsticks and plates, began to eat in silence. The lack of conversation spaced us, as if we were in two separate rooms. However, he still looked at me in-between the careful plucking of his sticks. I felt too heavy to raise the atmosphere with a joke, or a smooth assurance that everything was fine. I was too busy mulling over the past year, and how I'd shared it with this boy. Had I done him any good? Myself? I was afraid of the answer.

He and I both finished, and I signaled the waitress with a cocked hand. She withdrew the plates, glancing her pretty black eyes at me, then smiling at the boy. I was about to shift up to leave when I felt a warm hand plant itself on my head. I stiffened.

"Well, hello, Gubara-san." A worn voice murmured.

It was Asako-san. She bent, showing me her smiling face behind the wall.

"You haven't stopped by for a while. I was beginning to worry," she continued lightly, patting my head once, then retrieving her hand. Her eyes floated over to the boy. "Ah, but I assume you were busy with your new apprentice?"

The word apprentice skipped my brain once, then locked into place. 

"Ahh, yes. I've been teaching him for nearly a year now."

He eyed her critically as she sank to his level, then stiffened when her palm floated up to his hair and touched it with simple curiosity.

"What a lovely color your hair is...interesting texture." She said, mostly to herself.

Our conversation earlier that day came back to me, and I couldn't help but grin at the situation he was in. He looked over to my face, then attempted to smile, swiping his eyes between hers and mine shyly. This certainly was going to be interesting.

"Hello," He returned weakly, trying to back up the conversation.

"Hello. I don't suppose Gubara-san has told you about me," she answered airily, curling her palm under her chin and stilting her elbow on her thigh. "I'm his Asako-san, the matron of this restaurant. What would your name be?"

His large, purple eyes dipped momentarily, moving in thought. He looked back up, straightening his shoulders and folding his hand like a proper gentleman.

He said: "My name is Kenshin."

My heart stilled at the sound. No other word passed his lips but that, the name I'd given him. It was the first time I'd heard it said in this high voice.

"Kenshin is it?" She echoed back. 

Is it?

He nodded firmly, with conviction and commitment.

"Ah, and interesting name for the interesting boy." She said, a little laughter in her words. 

"Well..." I started. 

They both looked at me, although Kenshin did slower, tenser.

"Of course, he's interesting, he's my student, isn't he?" 

His hands clenched tighter in his lap, but he just smiled back at me. He had needed it, it seems.

I had no naive beliefs that this second would last forever. The future might be uncertain for both of us. We lived in hard, savage times, and his heart might thicken against me as he grew into an adult...however, at that moment none of it mattered.

At that moment, was happy enough just to hear that name be spoken.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written over ten years ago, but I reread it and still thought it was decent. I really loved Rurouni Kenshin when I first discovered it, but the Trust/Betrayal OAV (and the original manga section it's adapted from) was my favorite. Thanks for reading!


End file.
